Chasing Cordy
by niennah
Summary: When a spell goes wrong, the Fang Gang meet the man who came before the vampire... --updated with chapter 2--
1. Spell Man

Author: Anna  
Title: Chasing Cordy  
Rating: this part, PG-13.   
Pairing: C/A  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Well. Maybe a touch of Liam's accent.  
Summary: When spells go wrong. As they do.  
A/N: This fic's existence is thanks to Ando, so it's dedicated to her.  
Also, if the Irish is incorrect, please forgive me. I'm a little rusty.  
  
  
Prologue  
  
"I love her Wesley!" said Angel, a new urgency in his voice. "I love her and I want to sleep with her!"   
  
Wesley tried to suppress a smile. He failed. Angel chuckled sheepishly, and sat down again in front of Wesley's desk.   
  
"Okay, maybe I could have phrased that more delicately," he admitted.   
  
"Perhaps," agreed Wesley.   
  
"But Wes," continued Angel, sitting forward earnestly once again. "Please. There's got to be a way to make my soul permanent. Can you find it?"   
  
Wesley sighed, steepling his fingers.   
  
"Angel, gypsy magics are very powerful and much of the lore has been lost. I really don't know if I can."   
  
"Just try. Please, Wes."   
  
"Of course," said Wesley. "I'll start looking through the books now."   
  
"I love her so much," said Angel wistfully, his mind's eye on Cordelia.   
  
"I know," said Wesley gently.   
  
"Plus, she's a hottie."   
  
"And I'm getting the books."   
  
~*~  
  
Part 1  
  
Wesley stood in the doorway to Angel's suite watching the vampire pace to and fro.   
  
"So tonight's the night?" asked Angel anxiously.   
  
"Yes," replied Wesley. "Cordelia will be gone, as will Gunn and Fred. We can do it here in the hotel, and if it doesn't work, no one will be the wiser."   
  
"Right." Angel paused. "But it will work, right?"   
  
"I hope so," said Wesley, adjusting his glasses. "Well. Come down when you're ready."   
  
"I will," said Angel.   
  
Wesley left, closing the door as he turned. Angel continued to pace nervously. This was big. Bigger than big. And who would have thought he would end up doing this for Cordelia? Not Buffy. Cordelia. How things had changed.   
  
Cordelia. Her voice at the door.   
  
"Angel?"   
  
"Yeah?" he replied, halting his pacing.   
  
"Hey," she said, opening the door. "What do you think? Do I look the part? I mean, you should know!"   
  
She was dressed exquisitely. Angel was quite stunned.   
  
"It's very… authentic," he stammered.   
  
"Authentic? I wear this, this gown, and all you can say is authentic?" Cordelia looked not a little irate. "And the hair! Do you know how long this hair took?"   
  
Angel took a moment to take it in. Cordelia dressed in an exquisite eighteenth century gown. She looked breathtaking. In fact, it brought him right back to when he had breath.   
  
"You look beautiful, Cordelia," he said gently.   
  
"Well," said Cordelia, mollified. "That's better."   
  
"In fact," continued Angel, "back in the day, I'd rather take that off than leave it on." He grinned.   
  
Cordelia stared.   
  
"A little more information than I needed, but thanks. I think." She paused. "And now I'm going out."   
  
She was about to turn on her heel when he stopped her.   
  
"Wait, Cordy, why are you wearing that?"   
  
"Costume party? You know, Laura's place? You met her." Cordelia waited for Angel to show some recognition.   
  
"Met her?" he echoed, looking confused.   
  
"At my party? The one you spent in the kitchen talking to Dennis?"   
  
Angel had no idea.   
  
"Oh, right!" he said. "I remember now. Say hi for me."   
  
Cordelia raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Right," she said, turning. "Because she'll remember you too!"   
  
"I remember her!" called Angel, as Cordelia swept from the room.   
  
Wow, he thought, listening to her skirts swish down the corridor. She could really do that with the best of them.   
  
"Hey, Cordy, wait!" he called after her again.   
  
"What now?"   
  
He followed her into the corridor. She looked a little annoyed.   
  
"Have a good time," he said, smiling.   
  
She melted, and smiled in return, a big smile, one that warmed his old, cold heart.   
  
"Thanks," she said.   
  
And then she was gone.   
  
And Angel realised he was very nervous.   
  
Magic had never been his friend. Yes, he conceded, the curse had stopped him killing. But it had also been the bane of his existence since he had met Buffy. And now Cordelia. Every day, with her, around her, the scent of her in the very fabric of the hotel. He loved it and hated it, because he could not have her. But now, with this spell, he could at least admit his feelings for her, and then he would see. See if she felt the same way. And if she did…   
  
No. Don't go there. Not yet. First, the spell.   
  
He went downstairs.   
  
~*~  
  
Wesley had seen Cordelia out the door and immediately taken out the supplies. Herbs, check. Ribbons, check. Candles, check. Same old props. He watched Angel come down the stairs into the lobby, a nervous frown on the vampire's face.   
  
"How do you feel?" asked Wesley.   
  
"Scared," replied Angel.   
  
Wesley sighed, arranging the thyme.   
  
"It will be alright. I am sure."   
  
"How sure?"   
  
"Ninety seven percent?"   
  
Angel glared. Wesley flinched.   
  
"Ninety seven is a lot!" he said defensively.   
  
Angel said nothing, merely toyed with a large white church candle.   
  
"What could happen if it doesn't work?" he asked quietly.   
  
"Nothing. After the spell, Lorne will read you, and tell you if your soul is anchored."   
  
"No other possible side effects?"   
  
"No, I assure you."   
  
Angel seemed somewhat calmer.   
  
"Well, that doesn't seem so bad," he admitted. "Where is Lorne?"   
  
"He said he'd be here. I'm sure he will arrive before it is time to read you."   
  
Angel nodded curtly.   
  
"Okay," he said. "Let's do it, then."   
  
"Right," said Wesley. "You sit here." He indicated a chair in the middle of the circle he had made with the herbs and candles. Angel took the seat. "And we're ready, as soon as I do this."   
  
Wesley approached the chair and bound Angel to it with a length of white ribbon.   
  
"What's that for?" asked Angel, a panicky note in his voice.   
  
"It represents the binding of your soul. Don't worry, I shan't tie it too tightly."   
  
Angel looked a little discomfited but tried to relax as Wesley wrapped the ribbon three times around his torso and tied it loosely behind him. He looked at the floor, at the candles and herbs surrounding him.   
  
"Why do these Latin things always require so many herbs?" mused Angel, looking around.   
  
"Oh, it's not Latin. You might recognize it, actually." Wesley looked a little sheepish.   
  
"No," said Angel, incredulously. "The English man is going to try Irish? My mother would love to see this," he chuckled.   
  
"I'll have you know I studied Gaelic in the Watchers' Academy."   
  
"No Irish person calls it Gaelic, amadán. Now get on with it. This I've got to hear."   
  
Wesley looked nonplussed. However, he cleared his throat, and began to read.   
  
"Anam neamhbhuan, anam díomuan; táimid anseo anocht chun iarraidh ó na mórchumhachta an t-anam sin a thabhairt don seaimpín seo go buaine."   
  
Angel suppressed a snicker.   
  
"Do you mind?" whispered Wesley. "This is your soul we are dealing with!"   
  
Angel sobered himself, and tried to concentrate. He did not know on what, but he felt that he should.   
  
Wesley continued.   
  
"Mar ba mhaith leis grá a dhéanamh len' anam chara, lena ghrá fhéin, Cordelia Chase."   
  
Angel spluttered.   
  
"What?" he demanded, attempting to rise from the chair. Wesley had tied the ribbon tighter than he expected. Or perhaps it was enchanted. "Because what?"   
  
"You have to tell the truth!" said Wesley defensively. "They'd know!"   
  
"Bind my soul because I want to make love with Cordelia Chase? Wesley! Do you have to be that specific?" Angel looked thunderous, and yet there was a certain amusement in his eyes that his anger could not quell.   
  
"Look, please, I have to finish!"   
  
Angel calmed himself and sat back in the chair.   
  
"Just try to be a little more delicate, okay?" he muttered.   
  
Wesley threw him a sharp glance, and continued with the final part of the spell.   
  
"Ionas go mbeadh an duine seo mar a bhí sé ar dtús, cé gur deamhan fola é, éist linn anois! Éist linn!"   
  
Wesley ended with a flourish. The candles extinguished themselves with equal flair.   
  
Angel looked slowly at Wesley, his face stony.   
  
"What did you just say?" he asked quietly.   
  
Wesley frowned.   
  
"I asked for your soul to be as it was, permanent."   
  
Angel stood, breaking through the ribbon.   
  
"No, you didn't. Wesley…"   
  
If it was possible, he looked paler than usual. He stumbled forward, kicking the herbs as he fell towards the wall.   
  
Wesley looked on in shock, then ran forward to help the weakening vampire.   
  
"Angel! Angel?" Wesley caught him as he fell. Angel mumbled incoherently. "Is this supposed to happen?" asked Wesley frantically. Angel was unable to reply. I took all his strength not to collapse entirely.   
  
Wesley half dragged, half carried Angel to the elevator and from there to his suite. He laid Angel on the bed, and ran back downstairs for the book he had been reading from. He brought it back to Angel's room, flicking through it this way and that while watching Angel sleep fitfully.   
  
"Did something go wrong?" he asked himself, "or is this just the spell?" He did not know the answer, and could only leave Angel to sleep while he worked through the wording of the spell.   
  
Hours passed. Angel's sleep had become less troubled, and now he was in deep repose. So deep that Wesley found himself wishing that vampires breathed while they slept. His friend looked eerily corpse-like.   
  
He heard the door open downstairs. Cordelia, he thought. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard her exclaim,   
  
"Hey! What's with the New Gothic? Because it's so not happening."   
  
Wesley made his way to the door, not relishing what was to come.   
  
"I'm rather afraid that it has happened," he said as Cordelia came into view from the elevator.   
  
"What?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "Wesley, what?"   
  
Wesley hesitated.   
  
"Wesley," she repeated menacingly.   
  
"We tried a spell," he said, deflating.   
  
Cordelia took a step closer.   
  
"We? Who's we? You and Angel?"   
  
"Yes," replied Wesley.   
  
"What kind of spell?"   
  
Wesley hesitated again.   
  
"To bind his soul," he said quietly.   
  
Cordelia stared.   
  
"To bind his soul," she repeated.   
  
"Yes." Wesley nodded.   
  
"And?" said Cordelia.   
  
Wesley shrugged, frowning.   
  
"Well, I'm not sure," he said. "Angel seemed to have rather an unusual reaction."   
  
"Really. And what's the normal reaction to a soul-binding spell? Know all about it, do you?" Cordelia was now nearly at the door to Angel's suite. "Wesley, what happened?"   
  
Wesley sighed and stood back into the room, allowing Cordelia and her skirts to enter.   
  
Angel lay on the bed, motionless. His face was paler than usual. Cordelia gasped.   
  
"Oh my god. Angel." She rushed to the bed and put her hand on his face, hoping for some sign of life in his lifeless body. "Angel," she whispered. "Wesley, why won't he wake up?" She held him in her arms, looking into his face, willing him to hear her.   
  
Wesley could only shrug in response.   
  
"Angel," she said again, this time more loudly. "Angel!"   
  
Suddenly, he stirred. Took a reflexive breath.   
  
"Wesley! He's waking up!" said Cordelia. Wesley took a step closer, watching Angel come to in Cordelia's arms.   
  
Slowly and groggily, his eyes opened.   
  
"Angel!" whispered Cordelia again. "Are you okay, Angel?"   
  
She watched as a smile spread over his face. He rose his hand and it came to rest on hers.   
  
"I don't think I'm the angel here, darlin'," he drawled with a grin.   
  
"Angel?" said Cordelia uncertainly.   
  
"Aren't you a pretty thing," he said quietly, his other hand coming to rest on her intricately braided hair.   
  
"Okay, Angel, freaking me out now."   
  
"Name's Liam," he said, and then he kissed her so deeply and passionately and downright skilfully that she kissed him back before she knew what she was doing.   
  
~*~  
  
TBC  
  



	2. Vampire Guy and Vision Gal

Author: Anna  
Title: Chasing Cordy  
Rating: this part, PG-13.   
Pairing: C/A  
Feedback: Yes please. niannah@hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Well. Maybe a touch of Liam's accent.  
Summary: When spells go wrong. As they do.  
A/N: This fic's existence is thanks to Ando, so it's dedicated to her. And a big thank you to her for helping me out so much! And thanks to everyone who reviewed last time. I really appreciate it.   
Also, this is AU. Cordy is demonised, but there's no Connor, and never was any pregnant Darla. Fred and Gunn are together.   
  
~*~   
  
"Cordy? Cordelia!"   
  
Wesley's voice pulled her back from Liam's mouth. She stared into those black eyes, panting slightly in her bodice.   
  
"Oh God," she said. "Oh God. Angel?"   
  
"I never remember names the mornin' after either," he said, chuckling. "Nice to meet a woman of the same mind."   
  
"Morning after what?" she whispered, pulling further away.   
  
Liam cocked his head.   
  
"The mornin' after… the night before?" he said, doubt in his eyes for the first time. He looked around. And saw Wesley.   
  
"Oh. We're not alone," he said. "And we did not..?"   
  
"Did not what?" she said, still shocked.   
  
"Cordelia, I think he thinks that you and he… you know," finished Wesley lamely.   
  
"Oh," said Cordelia. "Oh! No. No, we never, because, you know, you, and your soul, and who are you?" she rambled.   
  
Liam sat up, running a hand over his stubble and raising an eyebrow.   
  
"And my father says I'm bad with the drink. He never met you." He ran his eyes over Wesley. "And who might you be?"   
  
"I am Wesley Wyndham-Price. And you, I believe, are Liam." Wesley looked at the stranger with the face of a friend in fascination. He held out a hand. Liam grasped it firmly and shook it. The he swung his legs off the bed, and stood up.   
  
"Liam Martin. A pleasure, sir. Though for an Englishman you are dressed very strangely, if you don't mind me commentin'."   
  
"Not at all," replied Wesley, smiling. "I think you'll find many things are different here."   
  
"Here?" said Liam, his eyes roaming over the décor of the Hyperion. "And where is here? It's not the tavern. I know the bedrooms there." He winked at Cordelia.   
  
Cordelia grimaced.   
  
"No, this is a hotel, the Hyperion," said Wesley. "I don't think you've been here before."   
  
"And what am I doin' here now?" asked Liam. He began to walk around, looking curiously into corners and cupboards. "And why am I dressed like this? Like you?" He looked down at his body in confusion. "I'm nearin' the end of me amusement, if you understand me," he said. For the first time, there was a touch of menace to his eyes.   
  
Cordelia stood up, taking a deep breath. She remembered too late what effect that would have on her breasts in her gown. Liam's eyes lit up, and she sighed.   
  
"Okay," she began. "Okay. Either your spell went wrong, Wesley, or someone spiked your blood, mister." She held up an admonishing finger at the lusty Liam.   
  
"Okay? Blood?," he repeated. "Spiked?"   
  
"To add alcohol to a drink so others become inadvertently inebriated," explained Wesley.   
  
Liam nodded, seemingly taking it in.   
  
"I wouldn't mind some alcohol, if ye're offering," he said, taking a few slow steps toward Cordelia. "And as for my blood, it's not spiked. But it's boilin' when I look at such a pretty lass as you."   
  
Cordelia swallowed, momentarily caught in his smouldering eyes. She shook her head.   
  
"And rule one? No more flirting! Wesley?!" Wesley looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Stop him!" she whispered loudly.   
  
Liam chuckled.   
  
"Forgive me, miss. I do not yet know your name."   
  
"Cordelia," she replied curtly. "Cordelia Chase."   
  
"Cordelia Chase," he echoed, the sound of her name low and round in his mouth. "And you also belong here in this hotel? With the Englishman?"   
  
Cordelia looked from Liam to Wesley and back again, laughing uncomfortably.   
  
"Oh, I'm not… I'm not with him. Ha! No. I have an apartment, in… another place. You know, not here. But I have a room here too. For when I … stay." She trailed off. This was too much.   
  
Liam frowned slightly.   
  
"I'm not sure I quite follow you," he said. "But perhaps we will leave it till another time? You seem a little out of sorts."   
  
"Yeah," replied Cordelia quickly. "Maybe I should just go change?"   
  
"Ye're leavin'?"   
  
"I'll be back." She smiled at his tone, despite herself. "I'll come back."   
  
She left the suite in a flurry of skirts. Liam watched her depart with a twinkle in his eye.   
  
"Okay," said Wesley. "Perhaps you would like to come downstairs? I believe we have some whiskey you might enjoy while we have a little chat. You know, man to man. And Cordelia, when she's changed."   
  
Liam looked at him quizzically.   
  
"You are all aware that my name is not 'Okay," are you not?"   
  
Wesley paused.   
  
"Ah," he said. "Okay simply means alright. Came into usage in the early twentieth century."   
  
Liam laughed.   
  
"Early what?" he said.   
  
Wesley led him gently to the door of the suite.   
  
"There really is an awful lot we have to talk about," he said as they walked towards the lobby.   
  
~*~   
  
Deep in the sewers, in a dank chamber forgotten even by rats, there was a stirring. Snuffly breath filled the air with an acrid smell as old brickwork crumbled under the pressure of a large, gnarled, dark grey hand. If hand it could be called.   
  
Something malevolent was rising.   
  
Again.   
  
~*~   
  
"This isn't some sort of inquisition, is it?" said Liam as they descended into the lobby. "Is this the Castle? Or the Gaol?"   
  
Wesley shook his head.   
  
"I assure you it is not. And believe me, Dublin Castle and the gaol are far from here."   
  
"Huh," grunted Liam. "Actually, I like this place. Doesn't look like a gaol, now, does it? And I've seen me share of those."   
  
Wesley silently marvelled at the man's capacity to take pride in anything.   
  
"Indeed," he simply said, as he led Liam to the red couch. "Whiskey then? Or tea?"   
  
"Whiskey'd be grand," said Liam, sitting with his back to the wall. He looked around the lobby, clearly impressed by its grandeur.   
  
Wesley ducked into Angel's office to find the Midleton he knew Angel kept there. He poured a generous measure into a crystal tumbler. He filled a cup with tea for himself. A dash of milk. He brought both out and placed them on the low table between the couches.   
  
"Here you are," he said. Liam picked up the tumbler and smelled the whiskey appreciatively.   
  
"It's good," he said, taking a sip.   
  
Wesley watched him carefully.   
  
"You can taste that?" he asked.   
  
"Of course," replied Liam. "Though it's not as full bodied as it smells. It's not the good stuff."   
  
Thirty year old Midleton, thought Wesley. It's the good stuff. But he felt now was not the time to explain about vampire taste buds, or rather, the lack thereof.   
  
He sat down opposite Liam, his back to the lobby.   
  
"So," he said. And faltered. How does one begin?   
  
"So," repeated Liam, making a face at the whiskey, but drinking more anyway.   
  
Wesley floundered. How does one tell a young man that he is in fact a very old vampire?   
  
"I am many things, Mister Wyndham-Price," said Liam, his eyes still suspiciously on his glass. "But I am not dull-witted, though my father would tell you otherwise."   
  
Wesley sipped his tea.   
  
"Of that I assure you I am aware," he replied tersely.   
  
"In that case," Liam continued, raising his eyes, "maybe you should start at the beginning. Where am I, and why am I here?"   
  
"Yes," replied Wesley. "You are probably right. Though I warn you in advance, it may sound horribly melodramatic."   
  
"As my father can also attest to, I am no novice when it comes to melodrama." Liam smiled.   
  
Wesley took a breath and was about to begin, when he noticed that he no longer had Liam's attention. Rather, his eyes were on the stairs, and his mouth was beginning to gape.   
  
Wesley turned to see what could have shocked him to such an extent.   
  
Ah, he thought. Cordelia.   
  
She entered the lobby wearing jeans and a t-shirt. A rather tight one, truth be told, that now and again rose to show some midriff. And Liam seemed quite enthralled.   
  
"So," said Cordelia, apparently more composed now. "What have you told him so far?"   
  
"Ah," began Wesley. "Well, you see, I haven't quite had a chance to tell anything yet."   
  
Cordelia put her hands on her hips.   
  
"Perhaps you could begin," said Liam, "by tellin' me why ye're dressed as a man? Not that it's entirely successful." He smirked as his eyes danced over her chest.   
  
"Oh for goodness sake!" Said Cordy exasperatedly. She sat down beside Wesley, who blushed.   
  
"Liam, perhaps you might refrain from being so very forward?"   
  
"And perhaps you might refrain from wastin' my time!" replied Liam angrily. "Who the hell are you, Wesley Wyndham-Price? And why am I here?"   
  
Wesley sighed and placed his cup back on the table. Under the harsh eyes of Cordelia and the equally annoyed frown of Liam, he began to explain the situation.   
  
~*~   
  
The creature looked around it, apparently having no problem with the deep dark of the sewers, though there was an unexplainable ambient light by which it could easily make out the pertinent details of the scene. It was hunched and slow-moving, with long limbs and watery grey eyes. Rags hung from its body in a vague attempt at clothing.   
  
It snuffled towards a tunnel, tiny squeaks emitting from its round, protruding mouth. It moved very slowly, though with a purpose.   
  
~*~   
  
Half an hour later, Liam sat, whiskey nervously to hand, his face quite blank and possibly paler than usual. Cordelia looked thunderous, her arms folded across her chest.   
  
Wesley merely looked abashed.   
  
"And well you might look abashed," said Liam. "You meddle with magic? There's dire punishments for those that interfere with such things where I come from."   
  
"Like what?" asked Cordelia acerbically.   
  
"Oh, thorns in the bed, a hunched back for the rest of yer life."   
  
"Ew," said Cordelia. "Memo to self, don't interfere. Actually, memo to Wesley!"   
  
Wesley shook his head in resignation.   
  
"Of course I know that now. But it seemed so straightforward!"   
  
"Yeah, usually the first sign it's really not!"   
  
Liam sat forward, knocking back another generous measure of whiskey. Wesley could not help but notice how empty the bottle was getting.   
  
"So, what you're sayin' is, I'm a vampire. I help the helpless. And I'm supposed to drink… blood."   
  
"Yeah," said Cordelia.   
  
"I know this is a lot to take in," said Wesley gently.   
  
"You're tellin' me! I never help anyone. Well, apart from young maidens with certain itches." He did not even say it lewdly, he was so distracted.   
  
"Well, Angel does," said Wesley.   
  
"My name is truly Angel?" asked Liam in mild disgust.   
  
"Yeah," said Cordelia. "What's wrong with it?" A look at his face was answer enough. "Okay, it's a bit, maybe, girly, some might say. But you're so… so…" She frowned. He waited. "So masculine, that you carry it off." She smiled, hoping her would not see her blush. Cordelia did not blush, she told herself.   
  
Liam saw her blush.   
  
"So," continued Cordelia brightly. "Go vamp. You know, to try it out."   
  
Liam's face clouded.   
  
"Go vamp?" he repeated. "And how might I do that?"   
  
"You know," said Cordelia. "Go grr." She held up two lightly clawed hands and growled like a mild-mannered kitten.   
  
Liam stared blankly. Wesley nodded at him encouragingly.   
  
He placed his whiskey on the table top and took a breath. Then he held up his hands and growled. His kitten was perhaps more roguish.   
  
Cordelia watched him expectantly. He raised a questioning eyebrow as her face fell.   
  
"Hey!" she said. "No fangs! What's with that?"   
  
Wesley sighed.   
  
"I think it might take more than a lesson in growling, Cordelia."   
  
"Oh!" said Cordelia, her eyes widening. "You mean he needs bloodlust!"   
  
Wesley nodded. Liam looked wary.   
  
"I'm not sure I like the sound o' that," he said.   
  
"Oh, don't be a baby," said Cordelia, standing up and joining him on his side of the table. She pulled her hair back from her neck and exposed her jugular. "Come on," she said, stroking her throat. "Lovely blood! You know you want some!"   
  
Liam watched in amazement as she bared her neck to him. And to his further astonishment, he began to see the blood flow in her artery, thick and red, and he heard the low dub of her heart beating and saw her entire body pulse with life and energy and he wanted to sink his teeth in and…   
  
"Woah!" He shouted in alarm as he heard himself snarl. This was no tame growl, this was feral, animalistic, the growl of a hungry wild thing.   
  
Cordelia turned to look at him. He gazed at her in horror as a smile spread over her face.   
  
"See?" she said. "I knew you could do it!" She patted his arm, and then took his hand and raised it to feel his own forehead.   
  
It felt rough and ridged, and continued so right down his nose. And his teeth felt bigger in his mouth. He ran his fingers over them.   
  
"Ow!" he said, cutting his thumb on a jagged edge. He watched the blood forming a little droplet on his skin. Before he realised what he did, he popped it in his mouth and sucked.   
  
He smiled broadly through his fangs.   
  
"Ah," he said. "Now that's the good stuff!"   
  
"See? Vamp taste buds!" Cordelia grinned at him.   
  
"How do I get more? Who can I drink?" Liam asked earnestly, his forehead still ridged and eyes still amber.   
  
Cordelia held up her hands.   
  
"Woah, slow down there, Vamp Guy!" she said.   
  
"Liam, I believe I explained this," said Wesley hurriedly. "You don't drink people, remember?"   
  
Liam's eyes glowed.   
  
"Not even the English?" he asked menacingly.   
  
Wesley froze. Cordelia looked frantically around for a stake.   
  
Liam laughed, his face smoothing again.   
  
"Have no fear," he said. "It's just my joke. But tell me, where do I get more blood? I am hungry."   
  
Cordelia stared.   
  
"So not funny."   
  
"I must agree with Cordelia."   
  
"Accept my apology. Please."   
  
Wesley's heart softened. It cannot be easy for him, he thought.   
  
"Apology accepted," he said. "And I'll get you some blood. Cordelia, you'll be okay?"   
  
"Sure. You go ahead. I'm American," she said with a grin.   
  
Wesley laughed before heading off to the fridge.   
  
Liam turned to look at Cordelia.   
  
"So," he said. "Is there more I should know?"   
  
"Well," she replied. "Crosses. You don't like crosses, and they burn you if they touch your skin."   
  
"Never much liked 'em anyway," said Liam, smiling.   
  
"What else? Oh yeah, mirrors. You have no reflection in mirrors."   
  
Liam looked taken aback.   
  
"Now those I did enjoy looking at," he said, frowning. "Is this true? I can't see meself in a mirror?"   
  
Cordelia shook her head.   
  
"Uh uh," she said. "Come on." She took a hold of his arm and dragged him across the lobby towards the desk.   
  
"Where are we goin'?" said Liam. "Bedroom's that way," he added.   
  
"Oh for the love of Pete!" muttered Cordelia under her breath. "We're going to the bathroom? You know, for the mirror?"   
  
"Ah," said Liam, nodding.   
  
Cordelia opened the door to the bathroom and stood Liam in front of the mirror. She stood behind him.   
  
"What do you see?" she asked.   
  
"I can see only you," he said.   
  
"Told you," said Cordelia, sticking her tongue out at his back.   
  
"I saw that," he said. "And clearly, too. This mirror was made by a true craftsman."   
  
She laughed.   
  
"I guess mirrors have changed since your day, huh?"   
  
"Indeed they have." He continued to watch her in the glass. He tried to imagine that she could only see his back, yet it seemed impossible. She stood behind him, unaware that he watched her. For once, he bit his tongue. Beauty like hers seemed above crass suggestion.   
  
He shook his head. New thoughts. He was sure they would pass.   
  
~*~   
  
The creature felt the draw of the air, upwards and out to the people.   
  
If it had a stomach, it may have rumbled with that vague thought. People. Tasty.   
  
It continued its slow and laborious trudge to the surface, smelling its way to distant sleepy humans, all tucked up safely in their safe houses.   
  
If it had a sense of humour, it would have laughed at this juncture. Laughed evilly.   
  
No house was truly safe.   
  
~*~   
  
Cordelia once again took Liam by the arm, returning to the lobby. She meant it to be a helpful gesture, as one might lead a guest who is not yet at home. She tried not to notice the natural crook of his arm and his gentlemanly demeanour. She certainly did not think to herself how much she enjoyed being escorted on the arm of so handsome a man. And in no way did her fingers gently trace the contours of the muscle beneath his shirt.   
  
She sat beside him on the couch as Wesley returned with warm blood in a glass. He placed it before Liam on the table.   
  
"There we are," he said. "This is pig's blood. It's what you live on."   
  
Liam nodded, and took the glass gingerly in his hand. He smelled it. His eyes lit up.   
  
"Smells delicious," he said. Cordelia smiled.   
  
Liam began to drink hungrily, draining the glass at a go. He put down the glass with a sigh.   
  
"That was most enjoyable," he said. He turned to Cordelia. "Is there more?"   
  
He looked a little nonplussed when Cordelia began to laugh.   
  
"Look at you!" she cried. "Blood moustache!"   
  
Liam could not help but laugh at her amusement. He ran a finger along his upper lip, and licked it. He grinned.   
  
"That was so cute!" said Cordelia. Liam's grin became much wider. She laughed again.   
  
Suddenly, he turned into a grinning demon, grey and snuffly, trailing filthy rags. She was no longer laughing.   
  
"Wesley?" said Cordelia. "Wesley, get the notebook."   
  
Liam's grin faded as he watched her unseeing eyes.   
  
"Are you alright?" he asked her, taking her hands in his. "Cordelia?"   
  
She shook her head, and he saw that her eyes once again focussed on him.   
  
"Sorry!" she said. "Vision. I'll explain later."   
  
"Vision? You are a Seer?"   
  
"Okay, I won't explain later, since you know all about it."   
  
"I have heard of Seers. I did not believe it."   
  
"Well, I am your Seer," said Cordelia gently.   
  
"My Seer?" he echoed with a faint smile.   
  
"I have visions, and you kill the big nasty." She waited for Wesley to sit down again, notebook in hand. "Which in this case, is a horrible, grey demon dressed in … ew! … definitely last season's demon rags. And it's coming to the surface to feed. It's really hungry, but I think it'll be a few days before it gets to where there are people to eat."   
  
Wesley wrote down the details. Liam held Cordelia's hands. They were warm to his touch. He was pleased that she did not take them away.   
  
"Well," said Wesley. "You call Fred and Gunn, I'll hit the books."   
  
Cordelia nodded and reluctantly disentangled her fingers from Liam's. She liked his hands, big and protective. She liked that he instinctively held her during a vision.   
  
He was not so different from Angel. And – the thought struck her suddenly – he had a bound soul.   
  
Her skin tingled as she reached for the phone.   
  
~*~  
  
TBC  
  



End file.
